


Worth Waiting For

by MelayneSeahawk



Series: Kinks4Kindness: Forbidden Fantasies [2]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Angel Wings, Aziraphale Has a Penis (Good Omens), Book Elements, Bottom Aziraphale (Good Omens), Crowley Has a Penis (Good Omens), Enthusiastic Consent, First Time, Forbidden Fantasies Zine, Good Omens Kink Meme, Grace Kink, M/M, Post-Canon, Show Elements, Top Crowley (Good Omens), Virgin Aziraphale (Good Omens), Virginity Kink, Wing Kink, kinks4kindness, to the world
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-02
Updated: 2020-10-02
Packaged: 2021-03-07 16:14:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,977
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26780473
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MelayneSeahawk/pseuds/MelayneSeahawk
Summary: A few days after the Apocanot, Aziraphale wants to make up for lost time and take their relationship to the next level.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: Kinks4Kindness: Forbidden Fantasies [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1952536
Comments: 16
Kudos: 175
Collections: Good Omens Kink Meme, Volume 1: Forbidden Fantasies





	Worth Waiting For

**Author's Note:**

> My second piece for Kinks4Kindness Vol 1: Forbidden Fantasies, kinks: wing kink, grace kink, virginity kink.
> 
> Also written for [Good Omens Kink Meme](https://good-omens-kink.dreamwidth.org/) on dreamwidth, prompt: [The first time Aziraphale comes, he is touching himself while sucking Crowley's cock.](https://good-omens-kink.dreamwidth.org/3161.html?thread=1565273#cmt1565273)
> 
> betaed

_ To the world _ .

The words echo pleasantly around Crowley’s head as they finish lunch and leave the Ritz, arm in arm. The Bentley is still parked outside Crowley’s flat, so they walk back to the bookshop, past Fortnum & Mason and the Piccadilly Circus tube station, enjoying a warm summer day in London as much as one can with the traffic and the crowds. But they’re in their own little world, in a way; Aziraphale’s hand warm on his elbow, very aware of every time the angel’s ridiculous frock coat brushes against his thigh. And the way Aziraphale keeps  _ looking _ at him, like he has a secret and can barely contain himself, is really doing Crowley’s head in.

They stop and stand on the kerb across from the bookshop for a few minutes when they arrive, just taking in the sight of the place, nary a whiff of smoke or a hint of char to indicate what had happened the day before. “See, I told you Adam put it all right,” Crowley says softly, and Aziraphale squeezes his arm, pleased as Punch, before all but dragging Crowley across the street in his hurry to reach the shop’s front doors.

They open before Aziraphale even has to lift his hand, as if the shop is as happy to see Aziraphale as he is to see it. But once inside the angel hurries straight through to the backroom, barely glancing at the new books Adam had added to the collection. Crowley follows, slightly bemused, and finds Aziraphale has seated himself on one side of the couch Crowley thinks of as ‘his’, rather than in his usual chair, something almost impatient in his posture.

“Crowley, sit with me,” Aziraphale says when Crowley crosses the threshold, and Crowley does as asked, half-turning to face the angel. “Will you...will you take off your sunglasses, my dear?”

Crowley hesitates for barely a moment before removing the glasses, folding them carefully and setting them down on the cluttered coffee table with a soft click. He returns Aziraphale’s bright smile with a lopsided one of his own, then forces himself to recline casually, trying to keep the tension in Aziraphale’s body from making him jittery. “What’s up, angel?”

Aziraphale hums, thinking, and Crowley presses his hands to his thighs, fingers flexing against the denim. “I know the last few days have been...difficult, for both of us,” he begins, and Crowley holds back a sigh. He doesn’t want to talk about ‘the last few days’ again; he wants to forget all of it ever happened, except for the part that they’re free now. “I know I said some...very unkind things, and while some of that was because of the tension I was under, that is an explanation, not an excuse.”

“It’s ok, angel,” Crowley says quickly, not wanting to rehash ‘I forgive you’ and ‘we’re not friends’ and all the rest. “I knew what was going on. I’m not mad at you.”

Aziraphale lets out an exasperated puff of breath, and Crowley subsides. “ _ I’m _ mad at me,” he says, fiddling with the bottom of his waistcoat, where the velveteen is worn thin from similar handling. “I know we talked about some of this last night, and today over lunch, but I want to apologize for my appalling behavior.” He squares his shoulders, and for a moment Crowley sees the warrior angel in him again; the Guardian of the Eastern Gate, both the parts that followed orders, and the soft part that gave away the sword. “I love you, my dear demon. I have for a long time, probably longer than even I realize, and I hurt you by denying it, because I was afraid. I want to show you that I am in earnest, but I’m not entirely sure how.”

Crowley is shocked speechless by that, something that has only happened a handful of times in his very, very long existence. He’d known, from Aziraphale’s behavior and his small smiles and, yes, from his fear, that Aziraphale loved him, but he’d been all but certain that the angel was barely aware of it, and that he would never admit it, even if he was. Hearing those words from Aziraphale makes him afraid for a second, afraid that the last 24 hours have all been a dream, that maybe the world really had ended yesterday, and he’d missed it. That everything that had happened since, even the less pleasant parts, had been a dream.

Aziraphale purses his lips unhappily after the silence has stretched between them for long moments while Crowley’s mind reels. “You could say something,” Aziraphale says snappishly, and that brings Crowley out of it. Still unsure what to say, he surges forward and presses his lips to Aziraphale’s.

Aziraphale makes a pleased sound and immediately kisses him back, lips soft and still tasting faintly of the cream cake he’d had for dessert. Crowley wraps his arms around Aziraphale’s shoulders, pulling him close, and Aziraphale digs his thick fingers into Crowley’s waist, pinkies sneaking under his jacket and shirt to touch the cool skin of his abdomen. The kiss goes from chaste to heated pretty quickly, and Crowley notes distantly that Aziraphale is something of a sloppy kisser, all lips and tongue, which is somehow thrilling.

Crowley slides one hand up into Aziraphale’s hair, something he’s wanted to do since practically the Beginning. The strands are cottony soft under his fingers, the curls tangling around his thin digits, and he uses his grip to shift Aziraphale’s head and deepen the kiss, which pulls a low, shocked-sounding moan from the angel. Crowley smiles against his lips and keeps at it, very glad they don’t need to breathe.

Eventually, Crowley eases back, hands still in Aziraphale’s hair. “Love you, too, angel,” he says, surprised at how husky his voice has become. “As if that wasn’t obvious.”

Aziraphale grins brightly, and Crowley swears he might even be glowing slightly. Ridiculous angel. “I...I want to make you feel good,” Aziraphale says, blushing brightly. “Take care of you, the way you always take care of me.”

“Anything you want, angel,” Crowley says, pressing a quick kiss to the corner of Aziraphale’s mouth, his plush lips swollen and slightly shiny from kissing. “Anything.”

Crowley doesn’t know what he’s expecting--maybe more kissing, maybe a little nudity--but he’s definitely surprised when Aziraphale lets go of his waist and slides off the couch entirely, settling on his knees between Crowley’s thighs. Crowley makes a nonverbal sound full of consonants and Aziraphale quirks a smile at him, cupping his warm hands over Crowley’s bony knees. “Alright, my dear?”

Crowley nods, suddenly breathless, and lets his legs fall open even further as Aziraphale scooches forward, running his hands up Crowley’s thighs. He presses his thumbs to the sharp points of Crowley’s hip bones, just barely peeking out over the tops of his denims, and then places his soft, perfectly-manicured hands on Crowley’s belt buckle. “May I?”

“How can I say ‘no’ when you asked so nicely?” Crowley chokes out, and Aziraphale grins like he’s just been presented with freshly-made crepes suzette, and there’s a definite glow around him as his fingers unhook the silver snake head buckle and alight on the flies of Crowley’s trousers. This time he doesn’t ask before he undoes the button flies and releases Crowley’s cock, which has been achingly hard since Aziraphale had slid to his knees. He looks up to meet Crowley’s eyes, then wraps a hand around the base of Crowley’s cock and dips his head.

Crowley thinks he should probably be embarrassed by the punched-out moan he makes when Aziraphale’s lips touch the head of his cock, but he’s already too gone to care. His fingers come up of their own accord to tangle in Aziraphale’s cotton wool hair, and the angel makes a hum of approval, so he leaves his hands there, curls wrapped around his fingers, warm to the touch like Aziraphale had been sitting in the sun. Every fantasy he’s ever had while watching Aziraphale eat pales in comparison to the real thing, and he can’t tear his eyes away from Aziraphale’s mouth as the angel explores his cock with lips, tongue, and the occasional hint of teeth.

The tiny part of Crowley’s brain that’s still rational is noticing that Aziraphale isn’t some kind of blowjob expert, but it doesn’t matter: it’s  _ his angel _ , so that already makes it the best blowjob he’s ever had. He knows he’s not going to last long, and soon enough he feels himself skating along the edge of orgasm. “I’m close,” he chokes out, tugging lightly on Aziraphale’s hair, but the angel doesn’t pull back, and not long after Crowley is coming down his throat, Aziraphale’s name a whine on his lips.

Aziraphale sits back on his haunches, panting hard, and Crowley looks down to realize that the angel has a hand in his own lap, rubbing the visible bulge in his trousers. Crowley moans, fingers tugging in Aziraphale’s hair again, and the angel stiffens, crying out, before collapsing forward against Crowley’s knees. “Well, that was interesting,” Aziraphale says softly, with a little chuckle.

“Mm, angel,” Crowley manages, scritching his fingers against Aziraphale’s scalp. Then Aziraphale’s words make it through the post-orgasm fog in his brain and he sits up slightly, bringing a hand down to tip up Aziraphale’s chin so their eyes meet. “Wait, what do you mean, ‘interesting’? Have you never done that before?”

“Done what?” Aziraphale asks, with that put-upon innocence that Crowley’s been able to see through since the beginning. He raises a skeptical eyebrow and Aziraphale colors, turning his face into Crowley’s knee. “No, I’ve never...engaged in fellatio before,” he says, and then he mumbles something else.

“What was that, angel?”

“I said, I’ve never had an orgasm before, either,” Aziraphale says with a huff.

“Really?” Crowley asks, surprised. “Not even by yourself?” Aziraphale shakes his head, and there’s something miserable to the way his shoulders droop. Crowley clicks his fingers, using a miracle to clean them both up and tuck himself back into his jeans, and tugs Aziraphale up, onto the couch and half in his lap. “Don’t be embarrassed, angel.”

“I’m not,” he says, but his rosy cheeks betray him.

Crowley tucks the angel’s head into his shoulder, and Aziraphale goes without a fuss. “I was a little surprised, but it’s nothing to be ashamed of,” he says. “Because of Upstairs?”

Aziraphale nods into his neck. “We weren’t supposed to,” he says softly. “I knew indulging in things like food and drink were technically alright, but there were the old rules about onanism, and about saving one’s self for one’s love, and all that…”

“Well, you followed the rules there, at least,” Crowley says with a smile, and Aziraphale looks up at him, smiling a little shyly. “And,” he adds, with a wicked grin. “That means we have lots of time to make up for.”

“Oh?” Aziraphale says, clearly intrigued.

“Yup,” Crowley says, popping the ‘p’ with a grin. “We could get started on it now, if you like.”

“I have a bedroom upstairs,” Aziraphale says, and Crowley chuckles and kisses him, tasting himself on the angel’s tongue. Aziraphale stands when they break the kiss, taking Crowley’s hand and leading him through the backroom to the stairs Crowley knows lead to the flat upstairs, though he’s never entered it.

Crowley gets a sense of a homey kitchen and old-fashioned wallpaper as he’s all but dragged through the flat to the bedroom. Aziraphale tsks when they step inside, and with a click the stack of books on one side of the bed is relocated to a corner. The bed looks cozy, piled high with fluffy pillows and warm duvets, but Crowley is quickly distracted from it as Aziraphale turns to him and pushes the suit jacket from his shoulders. “Patience, angel,” he says with a laugh as Aziraphale stripped his scarf off over his head and fumbled with the buttons of his waistcoat.

“I think I’ve waited long enough,” Aziraphale says, with a sharpness Crowley feels like a fingernail up his spine.

His intentions are clear, so Crowley follows his lead, and soon they’re in a race to see who can get the other naked first. Aziraphale is wearing a lot more layers than he is, plus they keep getting sidetracked by kisses, so Crowley finds himself naked while Aziraphale is still half-dressed, at which point the angel stops, steps back a little, and stares.

Crowley’s torn between vain preening and embarrassment, Aziraphale’s heated gaze almost perceptible on his skin. He’s about to say something, dissemble or crack a joke or  _ something _ , just to cut the tension, when Aziraphale smiles and tangles his fingers with Crowley’s. “Beautiful,” Aziraphale whispers. “My beautiful darling.”

“Shuddup,” Crowley says, and he knows he’s blushing but he ignores it. “Beautiful  _ angel _ , all soft and plush and just for me. Let's get you out of the rest of those clothes.” 

Their hands work together to strip Aziraphale of the rest of his garments, and then Crowley’s hands are on the angel’s bare skin, soft and smooth and oh so very warm under his perpetually chilly fingers. He’s seen Aziraphale naked before, back when humans had fewer taboos about the thing, but this is the first time in a very long while, and he’d of course not been allowed to touch then. “Beautiful,” he repeats, sliding his fingers up Aziraphale’s chest to his shoulders and pulling him into a tight embrace, skin against glorious, warm skin.

Aziraphale gasps at the contact and digs his fingers into Crowley’s bony hips. “Soft,” Aziraphale says lowly, almost quiet enough that Crowley can’t hear him.

“Perfect,” Crowley whispers back, and he feels some of the tension go out of Aziraphale’s frame. Was the angel self-conscious? No, that would never do. Crowley pulls back just enough to look him in the eyes. “You’re gorgeous, never let anyone tell you different.”

Aziraphale wrinkles his nose but doesn’t protest, and takes a step back toward the bed. Crowley chuckles and moves with him, sinking down into the thick mattress and pulling Aziraphale with him, so they’re laying side by side on the bedspread. Crowley kisses Aziraphale slow and deep, then settles back to look at him, cotton wool curls and snub nose and rosy cheeks. “Do you know what you want, angel?”

Aziraphale blushes even brighter. “Everything,” he says, soft but firm, and Crowley’s grin goes wild and wolfish. “I want to try it all.”

“I think that can be arranged,” Crowley says, rolling them so he’s looming over Aziraphale where he’s now flat on his back. “Mm, where to start, where to start? So many lovely options.” He presses his lips behind Aziraphale’s ear and hums, which makes the angel giggle. “Well, since you don’t know what you like yet, I guess we’ll just have to try everything and find out. Together.”

“Together, yes, that sounds lovely,” Aziraphale says, the words turning into a gasp when Crowley nips at his earlobe. “P-please, Crowley.”

Crowley’s well-acquainted with all of the ways to make a human body feel good, and he utilizes them now, taking note of every whimper and moan as he explores Aziraphale’s body, working his way down his neck to his chest (nipples not terribly responsive to delicate touches, but more pressure gets a very nice reaction), exploring the softness of his belly and hips (ticklish, but pleased about it, it seems), before eventually coming to the prize nestled at the apex of his legs, standing proud and hard and mouthwateringly pink. Crowley glances up, meets Aziraphale’s slightly dazed eyes, and then dips his head to take Aziraphale’s cock into his mouth.

“Oh, Lord,” Aziraphale gasps, hands coming up of their own volition to bury in Crowley’s hair. Crowley grins despite the stretch of his lips and focuses on his task, a flick of tongue here, a long suck that makes Aziraphale tighten his fingers and groan. He’s perfectly polite, no pushiness, no tugging on Crowley’s hair, but he seems almost overwhelmed by it, moaning almost continuously, hips shifting a little against the mattress. “D-darling,” Aziraphale stutters out eventually, and Crowley focuses on the tip, hand working the shaft, and soon enough he’s rewarded with a mouthful of bitter fluid and his angel all but screaming his name.

Crowley sits back, swallowing, and watches Aziraphale’s face and pets his thighs as he comes down a little, waiting until Aziraphale’s eyes focus on his, before giving him a lopsided smile. “Good?”

“Simply scrummy,” Aziraphale says, and Crowley laughs, shaking his head at his ridiculous angel. Aziraphale tugs him down into a kiss, and Crowley lets him, lets him explore his mouth and chase the taste of himself across Crowley’s tongue. “Marvelous, my dear,” he says when they separate for breath. “Simply marvelous.”

“Oh, we’ve barely started,” Crowley says, and that slow, indulgent smile spreads across Aziraphale’s mouth. “Roll over, this next part will be more comfortable for you on your stomach, at least at first.”

Aziraphale hums in agreement and rolls over, laughing when the fact that Crowley doesn’t want to move too far away means they turn into a tangle of limbs for a moment until they sort themselves out. Crowley guides Aziraphale up onto his hands and knees, and places his hands on the opulent curves of Aziraphale’s bottom. “Anything you don’t like, you tell me,” he reminds Aziraphale, but the angel chuckles and shakes his head.

“As if you’d do anything I didn’t like,” he says.

“You hate it when I drive too fast,” Crowley points out, brushing his thumbs back and forth over the soft, slightly furred skin under his fingertips.

“That is not at all the same thing, and completely beside the point,” Aziraphale says peevishly, with the same tone he uses when a restaurant is out of his favorite dessert, and Crowley can’t help his laugh. He runs his thumbs up down the seam of Aziraphale’s buttocks, parts them, and dives in, tongue first.

Aziraphale lets out a garbled shout that might contain a few swear words--Crowley’s a little disappointed that he can’t tell--and Crowley gets to work opening him up with his long, flexible tongue, revelling in this oh-so-intimate act, the clean, unreal taste of him, the heat of his skin. Aziraphale is clearly  _ really _ enjoying this, if the way his hips shift and the glow around his head is anything to go by. Crowley can feel his Grace building around them, but rather than being hot and painful like a blessed relic or hallowed ground, it’s warm and comforting, like a fleece blanket straight from the dryer. Angelic ozone smell fills the room, and underneath it the earthy, human smells of sex and sweat; it’s the best perfume Crowley’s ever encountered.

Once Aziraphale’s body has opened to him, blooming like a flower in the sun, Crowley adds his fingers into the mix. A subtle miracle slicks his fingers, and he presses one to the loosened muscle of Aziraphale’s hole. “Please,” Aziraphale grinds out, sounding like it’s through gritted teeth, and Crowley grins, pressing the slim digit in deep. Aziraphale’s body opens like it was made for this, made for Crowley, made for Crowley to use his body to give Aziraphale pleasure. His own arousal is a vague distraction buzzing away at the edge of his consciousness; the lion’s share of his attention is on Aziraphale’s reactions, every rock of his hips and pleased hum.

Crowley is perhaps overly-cautious in his preparations, but it  _ is _ Aziraphale’s first time, and besides, the tight heat of Aziraphale’s body around his fingers is practically making his mouth water at the thought of that sensation around his cock. Eventually, though, he manages to force himself to remove his hand, smirking when Aziraphale moans at its loss, and uses another miracle to slick his cock. “Ready for me, angel?”

“If you don’t put it in me right now, I think I shall explode,” Aziraphale says, and Crowley laughs.

“As you wish,” he says, lining himself up and slowly pressing in.

Crowley rubs Aziraphale’s belly with his free hand, but his body accepts Crowley without complaint, and sooner than he would have expected his sharp hips are pressed to the plushness of Aziraphale’s bum, thighs against thighs, hands cupping the swells of Aziraphale’s hips. They both breathe deeply for long moments, and then Aziraphale shifts his hips slightly. “I think you’re supposed to move now,” he says, and Crowley has to kiss him, pressing his lips to the base of Aziraphale’s skull.

“Impatient angel,” he scolds, laughter still in his voice, and Aziraphale huffs. He slides out slowly, drawing a moan out of both of them, and then presses back in, strong and sweet. It takes a few strokes to line himself up with Aziraphale’s prostate, but when the angel yelps and almost jumps, he knows he’s found the right angle. He speeds up his thrusts, hammering against that spot inside, and Aziraphale moans almost nonstop, fingers clenched tight in the sheets beneath him and toes curled. The glow around Aziraphale’s head is almost too bright to look at, and it’s beautiful.

Crowley feels his wings open into this reality with a pop, and stretches them wide, flapping a little for extra leverage to thrust into Aziraphale’s willing body. He frees one hand long enough to scrape his nails against Aziraphale’s spine, hard enough to tingle but not cut. “Let me see your wings, angel,” he gasps. “Please, let me see them.”

Aziraphale’s wings appear with a burst of displaced air, pearlescent and glowing. The aura of his Grace is even stronger now, filling the room with summery heat, and Crowley loves it. He wraps that free hand around Aziraphale’s cock and strokes in time with his hips, burying his face between Aziraphale’s wings. “Come for me again,” he murmurs, hips pistoning. “Come on, angel.”

Barely half a dozen strokes and Aziraphale is coming again, all over Crowley’s hand and the bed. Only Crowley’s hand on him keeps him from collapsing, and his hips pump once, twice, and then he lets himself go, spilling inside Aziraphale’s inhuman warmth. He pulls out with a groan and collapses to the side, careful of his wings. Aziraphale follows him down, and soon they’re facing each other, legs tangling, hands clasped between them.

“Oh, darling, that was wonderful,” Aziraphale says, voice slightly hoarse from all the yelling. Crowley miracles up a glass of water, and they sit up just enough to drink it, trading the cup back and forth between sips.

“You know, that was barely the beginning,” Crowley points out, and Aziraphale grins brilliantly. “Like, if this were a university course, it would be the intro level.”

“I’m sure you’ll show me everything, in time,” Aziraphale says, finishing the last of the water. Crowley stares at the way his throat moves, too distracted to say something snarky. Aziraphale sends the glass away with a wave of his hand, then curls up on his side again, wings tucked tightly so they fit on the bed. “You are very imaginative, after all.” He’s quiet for a moment. “Stay?” he asks softly, and Crowley’s blackened heart melts a little.

“Of course I’ll stay,” he says, pulling the angel into his arms. “I’m never leaving again, not unless you tell me to.” Aziraphale’s smile is almost blinding. “Nap now?”

Aziraphale wrinkles his nose adorably. “I don’t really sleep, my dear.”

“It’s the done thing,” Crowley says, poking the angel’s side where he now knows will get him a good giggle. “D’you mind if I partake?”

“Not at all,” Aziraphale says, some of the brightness going out of his smile, but it’s no less real. “I’ll be here when you wake, my darling.”

Crowley sighs contentedly, tucks his angel closer into his side, and sleeps.

**Author's Note:**

> [reblog link](https://melayneseahawk.tumblr.com/post/630901705432776704/worth-waiting-for-melayneseahawk-good-omens)
> 
> Find me on [tumblr](https://melayneseahawk.tumblr.com/)!


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